Thanks, Paul

At 5am your iPhone starts to bark. Rise and shine, Sunshine, because it’s time to get moving. Shuffling around you change into your running clothes (or at least what feels like your running clothes and since you haven’t had time to do laundry in the last week certainly smells like your running clothes). Your legs don’t know what’s hitting them.

Sure, they did a 5 mile run less than 12 hours ago but you’ve got to get this run in before you go home for Thanksgiving and have your mother screaming from the porch, “That’s enough! STOP RUNNING!” and then she chases you up and down the street. No, better to run now before the sun (and the mother) are awake.

You have the gym to yourself because you live in a building surrounded by undergraduates who are just getting in from a night of partying and are in no way able to get out of bed for a pre-dawn workout. No, really, your legs don’t know what’s going on and all you’re thinking is “Gotta get through the miles and get to work…” As you near the end, on Satan’s treadmill, you congratulate yourself. You’re such a runner! You got up early so you wouldn’t miss your run. “I’m just so athletic,” you tell yourself and smile.

After you finish your run, you go back upstairs, eat your healthy, bland oatmeal, shower, change, and think your hair just looks so good (when you get off the train that night mother will tell you otherwise but for now it’s awesome). Before you leave, you wink at yourself in the mirror and say (out loud) “you go girl.”

On your way to work (if you add an extra 1/2 mile onto your usual route and go in a sort of round about loop) you pass the french bakery. Oh, mon dieu! It’s on my way! You tell yourself. So you go in and you get the mini Gourmandise. You just congratulate yourself for picking the “mini” version (conveniently leaving out the fact that you ordered 5 of them).

And you spend your Thanksgiving feeling so thankful for running and your ability to run (forgetting that you currently walk funny, refused to do a turkey trot with your sister, just the other evening were mentally shouting obscenities at the act of running, and you have to do a 16 mile run on Saturday).

And being super thankful for the more conveniently located french Bakery.

Mini Gourmandise


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